


Not a Creature Was Stirring, Not Even a Myka

by Typey



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 21:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9034169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Typey/pseuds/Typey
Summary: Sleepy Christmas sweetness for the B&W Secret Santa Exchange





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Granger4013](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Granger4013/gifts).



> Granger wanted something gooey and fluffy (and I couldn’t figure out a way to mail sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows that only barely escaped catching on fire in the oven). Enjoy!

Myka groaned. She was pleasantly warm, but otherwise not entirely comfortable. "I'm getting too old for this."

"Yes, you are positively _ancient_."

Her wife's wryly raised eyebrow was clear even through Myka's slumberous refusal to so much as turn her head toward the other wingback chair.

Or maybe it wasn't refusal. "No, really, I think I did something to my neck." Still not even opening her eyes, Myka tried pathetically to uncurl, and, giving up, she let loose a breathy, irritated grunt and a muttered expletive.

Myka heard Helena put down her book and chuckle. "Are you stuck?"

"Mostly, thanks for laughing."

With a concentrated effort, Myka swung her legs out from under her and rocked herself upright. A few curls hung in their customary spirals, but more had been pressed between Myka and either side of the corner where she'd been wedged for her unexpected nap. She pulled groggily at the strands stuck to her cheek and sagged forward.

"How long was I out?"

"Oh, not quite an hour."

"And when," Myka looked down at the blanket draped over her left shoulder, "did I get this?"

"I didn't want you to get chilled. Even with our lovely fire." Helena's shrug was as elegant as ever.

Myka smiled and pulled it tighter around her. "Well, thank you." She stared into the flames trying to focus on waking up. The crackling of the logs nearly lulled her back into sleep. Realizing that Helena hadn't gone back to her reading, Myka started to turn her head toward her wife to make sure the interruption hadn't been unwelcome.

And grimaced.

Helena, who had been watching Myka with a soft gaze, leaned forward at Myka's show of discomfort.

"Would you like me to do something about that aged body of yours?"

Rather than replying in kind to the teasing, Myka sighed and gave a very small nod. "Oh, yes please."

"Budge forward on the chair, then." Helena's request was accompanied by her gracefully rising and stepping across the distance between them, and then somehow even more gracefully slipping in behind Myka, cradling Myka's hips between her thighs and encircling Myka's shoulders with a warm embrace.

Myka sank back into Helena, closing her eyes again and humming in contentment at the feel of her wife's arms around her and heartbeat against her. 

"That does feel nice."

Tilting her head to place a soft kiss to Myka's jaw, Helena whispered, "Let's see if I can do better than 'nice'." She leaned back slightly — Myka whimpered — so she could place each hand on one of Myka's shoulders. And she dug in, not ungently, with her thumbs. 

"Oh, so much more than 'nice'."

Helena laughed out loud at Myka's reaction, and Myka didn't even care. The feel of Helena's hands pressing into tired, kinked muscles, dragging down the line of her spine and along her ribs, cresting the rise of the shoulders and sneaking down her arms.

It wasn't silent in the room — the fire still snapped and hissed; Helena breathed steadily and deeply, close enough for Myka to feel the exhalations on her skin and in the tangles of her hair; and Myka knew she was sighing in counterpoint to Helena's ministrations.

Slurring slightly from her dazed enjoyment of the massage, Myka managed to return to the question she'd left unasked. "Did I interrupt your reading?"

"Yes." Helena punctuated her response with a kiss to Myka's left shoulder. "Very pleasantly." And one to her right.

"What was it?"

Helena's hands swept curls to the side of Myka's neck and she kissed the newly exposed skin. "Just 'A Christmas Carol'. Seasonally appropriate and all that."

Myka reached up with her right hand to still Helena's and asked quietly, "Are you dwelling on your ghosts?"

Helena brought Myka flush against her, holding tight for a moment before letting go to resume the purposeful strokes of her hands. "Remembering, perhaps. But not dwelling. Not anymore."

"Good."

"Very."

Myka felt Helena's fingers move in measured increments up the sides of her neck. As the warm, sure pressure slowly loosened the cricks, Myka's head fell forward until her chin met her chest. Speaking in a low voice muffled partially by her shirt, Myka had to repeat herself. Trying again, she asked, "Did you read it often, before?"

"It was ubiquitous during the festive season, though not in as many variations as there are now." Helena dropped her hands away from Myka's neck for a moment, giving another dose of attention to the edges of the shoulder blades and letting Myka have a moment to roll her head from side to side and explore the limits of her now-relaxing muscles. "Did your family have a tradition of reading the story?"

"Oh, I read it, and saw it as a play at least once. But we were big on 'A Visit From St. Nicholas'."

"Do you have it here? I would like to hear you read it aloud."

At that Myka chuckled. "I don't need the book to recite it."

Helena dropped her hands sharply to her own thighs. "All this time and you didn't tell me you had a Christmas tradition ingrained that deeply. _And_ you've had me reading aloud to you whenever it strikes your fancy, but _I've_ never had the pleasure of listening to _you_ tell _me_ a story?"

Myka giggled. Girlishly. "Okay, first off, I have an eidetic memory, which you know, and so you shouldn't be surprised at all that I can recall a fifty-six line poem that was written to be remembered. Second, well, your voice is beautiful but it never occurred to me that you'd want to hear me recite anything."

"Well, that's patently ridiculous." Helena shoved lightly at Myka's arm, urging her to spin toward her. "All right, let's get comfortable. I'm going to be your very attentive audience for a Christmas Eve performance of 'A Visit From St. Nicholas'."

"Comfortable?" Myka skeptically eyed the chair, which had already bested her once that evening. "Hmmmm. Okay, up you go." Myka tapped Helena's hip and then tugged on her shoulder to get her to lean forward. "We're switching." Helena, taking advantage of the opportunity of crawling around her wife to steal a few kisses, eventually settled herself on Myka's lap with her legs hanging over the arm of the chair.

Myka carded her fingers through Helena's hair and began. She could see in her mind's eye each of the illustrations from the book she'd had as a child. The words rolled off her tongue, though she didn't modulate her voice for the characters or mimic the various actions. No orders called elfinly to reindeer, no laughing and bowls full of jelly, no finger laid aside her nose.

And just as she reached the final lines, the clock from the front hallway chimed midnight. Myka placed a hand on Helena's jaw and drew her in for a long, sweet kiss. They pulled away only the barest of millimeters, and Myka whispered into the space they shared.

"...Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night."


End file.
